


Whump Week

by FeyduBois



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood Loss, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fever, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, M/M, Sickfic, VLD Whump Week, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyduBois/pseuds/FeyduBois
Summary: Prompts for the VLD Whump Week August 13-20.I totally missed the Allura chapter (6) but it's been added now so that EVERYONE gets whumped! Please enjoy.





	1. RED: Saltwater

Keith had felt strange since waking up that morning. His throat was achingly sore when he woke up and it had only gotten worse from there. Breakfast had been painful - it hurt to swallow, even the cool green jello-like goo - and by lunch he could barely swallow water without hiding a wince. Fortunately his team didn’t comment on his lack of appetite, or the way that he huddled inside of his jacket, finding the castle cooler than it ought to feel. Lion training was scheduled for the afternoon. He slid into Red’s seat and launched out of the castle onto Arus’ surface.

“Hey Keith,” Lance said over the comms, “Think you can keep up with these manouvers?”

Blue rushed ahead of Red and began to twirl gracefully in the air.

“You know it,” Keith replied, his voice hoarse, and followed Lance through the air dizzily.

“Knock it off you two,” Shiro interrupted, “Let’s practice forming Voltron.”

They managed to join together, Keith finding it difficult to focus but pressing through, repeating in his mind Shiro’s mantra: Patience Yields Focus. Patience Yields Focus. Patience Yields Fo... his focus was fading.

***

Upon forming Voltron Shiro felt something odd tugging at the edge of his mind. Surely the other paladins felt it too, but no one pointed it out, probably because they didn’t know what it was. It was red, bright red, and hot, Shiro noticed. On a hunch he brought up a display which he knew monitored the vitals of the other paladins. There was an alert on the top right of Keith’s marker, bright blinking Altean numbers in red indicating something out of the norm. The other paladins were all several units lower than Keith on the scale, yellow or green, while Keith was bright red and in the double digits.

“Let’s call it a day,” Shiro said, running on a hunch and trying to sound casual.

“But we’ve barely begun!” Lance exclaimed.

“I know,” Shiro replied, “But we’ve been running hard the past few days, let’s call it an early night1.”

There were murmurs of agreement on the green and yellow frequencies; the red one remained silent, a fact which did not go unnoticed since Shiro knew Keith would be the first to protest.

The Lions gathered in the main hanger and the paladins poured out. The lions would all later return to their own hangers, on their own, but for the sake of ease they all came to the main hanger to drop off their pilots, and hang around if repairs or other routine maintenance was needed. The lions were all undamaged, naturally as this was just training, but Red remained in the hanger after the others had left. The four pilots, minus Keith, were all in the hanger as well, waiting for him. Hunk left to start preparing dinner, and Lance and Pidge eventually wandered off as well, but Shiro waited for Keith to emerge from his lion. It took far longer than it should have, as if Keith were waiting so that he could emerge alone, and when he did Shiro took one look and knew exactly what was happening.

“Keith!” he exclaimed as the boy crept out, leaning against the hanger wall for support. Shiro came to him immediately and draped an arm around his shoulder, supporting Keith to the entrance of the hanger where several work benches were set up. He let Keith slump onto a chair and then took in his appearance, trying to diagnose the problem.

“You’re sick,” Shiro said, accusingly. His glove came off and then his hands were prodding at Keith’s face, the back of his human hand pressed to Keith’s forehead, beneath his bangs.

“S’just a sore throat,” Keith croaked.

“Mmmn, and a fever,” Shiro hummed. Both of his hands ran along the sides of Keith’s face, his grey eyes filled with concern as his finger tips prodded beneath Keith’s jaw, feeling at his lymph glands. “Significant swelling,” he diagnosed, “Some sort of infection. Does it hurt to swallow?”

Keith’s glare told Shiro all he needed to know.

“I think we should go to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine,” Keith mumbled.

“Cadet, you are not fine.” Shiro said firmly, “We are going.”

“Yes’sir.”

Despite Keith’s ‘disciplinary issues’ the military response had been drilled into him and, though he did not want to, he followed Shiro towards the indicated room. He knew better than to run away, or sulk, or just go lie down which was all he really wanted to do; when a superior officer said march, you marched. Besides, he honestly didn’t have the energy to rebel right now.

Keith marched into the infirmary just ahead of Shiro, who kept a close watch in case his ward toppled over, as his slow, swaying step indicated was possible. Once there Shiro discreetly radioed Coran and then fumbled around with the devices laid out. He indicated for Keith to sit down on a high stool near the diagnostic station. Shiro gathered up a blanket and drapped it over the shivering young paladin’s shoulders. Keith clutched it close.

The infirmary was a small room just off the larger room where the healing and cryogenic pods were located. It was used for wounds which were too minor for a healing pod and, as they had found after half the team came down with space’s answer to the common cold, for minor illnesses. Shiro had no clue how to work the diagnostic software, or even if it could tell him what he wanted to, but the tools on the table were self-evident… somewhat. He picked up what looked like a penlight, tried to turn it on, and nearly blinded himself when it did turn on, the beam red and laser-like. A shift of the dial provided a white light that did not burn his hand when he tested it so he turned to Keith with this.

“Open,” Shiro said.

“What?” Keith squawked.

“Open your mouth,” Shiro said, exasperated, “Say ‘aaah’.”

Keith, feeling rather exposed despite being fully clothed, opened his mouth and Shiro shone in the light. Shiro visibly cringed at what he saw, not even needing to look hard for the white spots that coated the back of Keith’s red and swollen throat. He flicked the light off and put it down, “That must hurt.”

“What?”

“You have strep.”-

“Huh?” Keith asked.

“Streptococous infection in your throat. It’s a bacteria, pretty common, some people carry small populations of it, but sometimes strains develop that cause infections like this, or else a person gets stressed out and vulnerable, or they kiss or share drinks with an infected person, who may be asymptomatic…”

“Oh.”

“In the old days it could lead to scarlet fever, but we have antibiotics now… or we did on Earth. I wonder what we have here?”

Coran entered just then, at the precise moment Shiro needed him, “Oh, hey Coran. Can you help me with this?”

“Of course, of course…” Coran tugged at his moustache and immediately began bringing up a display over the diagnostic seat where Keith sat. “Ah yes, raised temperature, localized inflamation in the throat. Infection?”

Shiro nodded, “Yes, a fairly common one on Earth. Do you have antibiotics?”

“Anti-bio…” Coran laughed, “No, no… Alteans stopped using those ages ago, too much unwanted affect on the body’s healthy bacteria.”

“What do you use then?”

“For this a warm sodium chloride gargle, and if it persists, we administer quibbles.”

“What?” Shiro and Keith both echoed.

“Quibbles,” Coran held up a tiny vial, “They target only the programed bacteria, rendering them unable to procreate and harmless enough that the body no longer needs an immune response.”

“Quibbles…” Shiro repeated in bewilderment.

“Can we try the salt water first?” Keith asked, sounding concerned. Healing pods were one thing, but nanobots quite another.

“Of course, of course…” Coran said, grinning. “I can understand how primitive peoples might have quibbles with quibbles, that’s why they’re called that of course,” he chuckled, “Not that young Alteans had any idea, they would take quibbles by the handful. Of course, they don’t work as quickly as the old-fashioned methods...”

Coran mixed several vials like some mad chemist and eventually held out a glass to Keith, “Take a mouthful of this, treat your throat with it, and then spit it out.”

Keith did so, mouthful by mouthful, grimacing at the salt though he had to admit that it made his throat feel better. Eventually he set down the glass. Shiro, curious, picked it up and ran his finger along the inside and then tasted it. It seemed to be just warm, coloured saltwater.

This was a highly advanced alien civilization and they used saltwater as a treatment. They were in a goddamned spaceship flying through wormholes and here they were treating a sore throat with what was basically a warm saline solution. Salt and water. Seawater. The substance that made up like 70% of their home planet’s surface. There was no disputing tradition, however. Coran looked proud, smug even.

“I will deliver you a glass of this five times a quintant for at least four quintants,” Coran instructed, “Until then I recommend bedrest, soft foods, plenty of warm liquids, and monitoring of your fever. If it gets higher we can bring it down a touch for your comfort, you’re at the threshold for that treatment now.”

Keith again made an indignant sound which would have been threatening were it not for the fact that he sounded like a dying animal, “Bedrest? For four days?!”

Shiro chuckled; no matter the culture, some things never changed. “Hey Coran, can you help me figure out these displays? I want to figure out just what his temp’s at right now, so we’ll know when to bring down his fever and if we need to use quibbles.”

“Can’t we just use the quirbles now?” Keith asked.

“No no,” Coran protested, “Overuse of quibbles can cause your immune system to weaken. We must let it fight on it’s own.”

Keith groaned in exasperation and flopped onto the infirmary bed.


	2. BLUE: Caring is the First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classic huddling for warmth trope with a Shiro-Lance-Keith sandwich. (season 2)  
> Mild KLANCE  
> Lance is the warmest spoon. <3

Of course it was an ice planet, and of course it had to be Lance that was suffering the worst. The Blue paladin should be able to handle this sort of crap, his thing was ice after all, but Blue’s thermoregulation had been damaged early in the fight and Lance was chilled throughout the fight. Then, of course, they left the lions and went among the locals, walking about and discussing an alliance and eating dinner and then a party. It had started gradually, a creeping cold, but after several hours of this it had seeped into his bones and he was heartily, verily, impossibly, cold. 

Lance had never been so cold before in his entire life.

He had grown up in a warm climate, and in cooler climates he had always had plenty of clothes followed by a warm building to return to, but today he had been forced to persevere in a cold environment without a sweater for hours on end. There were parts of him that were numb from cold that he didn’t even realize could go numb.

“Whew,” Hunk sighed, draping himself onto the couch in the communal area of the rooms the paladins had been offered for the night, “That was a good party.”

“Yep,” Shiro agreed. It was a universal a thing for leaders to engage in drinking contests and Shiro had to admit that these peoples, on this Hoth-like planet, had a strong liquor. Of course he’d survived similar overindulgences of libations at liberation parties on other planets, but even with Shiro’s insistent prudence the three or four drinks he’d taken had left him giggly and woozy. He collapsed face-down on the couch, which was the size of a double bed, and Hunk, ever the mother-hen, undressed him from his paladin armour and drew a blanket over him.

Hunk looked, then, at Lance, who was still in full armour, despite that the others had changed into casual or sleep-wear. “Not going to bed?”

Lance shrugged and huddled into himself, pulling his arms towards his body, although he mentally knew that in the armour it would do very little.

Hunk frowned, picking up on Lance’s strong shiver, “How 'bout you change into your warm PJs?”

“Later,” Lance mumbled, pathetically.

“Okay,” Hunk said. His voice, however, was less at ease. He glanced over to Keith and Pidge and indicated silently to Pidge who left the room promptly. Keith didn’t quite know what to do, but earlier he had changed from his paladin armour to his day clothes and he knew the room was cold. Hunk pointed to a blanket draped over the couch and Keith picked it up and handed it to him. Hunk gathered Lance into the blanket and rubbed up and down Lance’s arms. “Are you cold, bud?”

“Fre-freezing,” Lance mumbled, resting his head into the crook of Hunk’s neck. Hunk felt that Lance’s entire body was frigid.

“Can I see your hand?” Hunk asked and Lance easily complied. There was a slight tinge of blue to his fingernails and when Hunk pressed a thumb onto the flesh on the back of Lance’s hand the colour took longer than he liked to return. 

“Mm'kay,” Hunk said, “Let’s get you changed. Out of the suit first.”

Lance groaned in protest but obeyed. Hunk gently helped Lance, pale and clammy, out of his spacesuit and he was huddled in only the blanket for a moment before Pidge brought in the blue pyjamas Lance adored, along with the robe. Hunk helped Lance into his nightclothes and then laid him down next to Shiro. Lance snuggled under the blankets against Shiro, taking the little spoon position. The two of them nearly took up the entire couch, bigger than a normal Earth couch, but not giant, and Hunk sat on the edge of it. Lance wrapped his arms around Hunk’s middle.

“M’cold still.”

“Seriously?” Keith asked.

“He’s freezing,” Hunk agreed, stroking the hair out of Lance’s face.

“He’s all wrapped up like that, how cold can he really be?” Keith asked. Lance was such a baby.

Keith reached out tentatively and touched Lance’s face.

Oh.

Oh… goddamned. Lance was COLD.

“He’s frigid!” Keith exclaimed.

“Like I said,” said Hunk, “He’s freezing cold, bordering on hypothermic.”

Pidge crept forward, “Lance gets cold easily. He’s from a hot climate, and the Blue lion today lost thermoregulation. He’s been cold a long time, it’s probably still affecting him. Shiro’s probably helping right now though.”

Shiro, their bold leader, snored on, his mouth wide open. Shiro typically snored loudly, from his deviated septum, not that anyone would tell him to his face, but tonight he sounded like a goddamned chainsaw. Perhaps it was because he was drunk?

Still, he was putting out heat if the way that Lance curled into him was any indication.

If Lance was any indication, however, it wasn’t enough heat. He still looked cold.

“I can do this,” Keith said, stripping off his jacket.

“Wait, what?” Hunk asked.

Keith unlaced his boots and kicked them off, then shimmied out of his pants, socks still on, unembarrassed in his black y-front boxers and t-shirt.

“Shiro is warming Lance from behind, you won’t fit on the couch with them too, and…”

Keith shrugged. Pidge was out of the question, though he didn’t say it out loud, because she was young and might wake up with Lance’s hands all over her innocent body, on her… that was besides the point, Pidge was too little and couldn’t provide the kind of heat Keith could. Keith wouldn’t mind doing this for Lance.

Keith had been told that he ran hot, knew it for a fact, he didn’t count a fever until he was over 101, and Lance was freezing cold, so naturally Shiro on one side and Keith on the other would warm Lance the fastest. Hunk probably could help, but he was too busy stammering and worried about decency and all that other stuff. Shiro might normally be that way too, but Shiro was drunk and he also knew all about huddling for warmth for survival, and for other types of comfort given his time as a prisoner, so waking up as the largest spoon was probably fine for him. Keith would be the small spoon, and between them, Lance would be the middle spoon, the warmest spoon of them all.

Keith curled his body against Lance’s and shivered at the contact with the cold boy, but then settled. Hunk and Pidge regarded him with surprise. They clearly hadn’t expected this type of sacrifice.

“What?” Keith spat, “I’m the fire paladin, I can provide some heat. He’s so cold.”

“Of course,” Pidge said, bringing a hand to her mouth as if to surpress a snicker.

“What?” Keith demanded.

“Nothing,” said Hunk, shrugging, although his nonchalant smile gave it all away. He was glad that Keith had finally admitted to liking Lance, or at least caring for him enough to not let him freeze to death, and caring was, really, the first step.


	3. GREEN: Hemoglobin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge knows a lot about the human body, especially the coronary system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking up how long it takes a person to bleed to death in a Tim Horton's coffee shop with RCMP two seats over LMAO.
> 
> Set in season 3. Minor warnings for descriptions of gory things and discussion of menstruation.

“The average male human body has just shy of 1.5 gallons of blood in it, females 1.2 gallons. Generally it makes up seven to eight percent of the body’s mass. I probably have less because I’m still growing.”

“We’re on our way Pidge, just hold on,” Hunk said. Of course Pidge has less blood, he thought, she’s so little.

“Keep talking to us Pidge, we’re on our way.” Lance said.

Keith felt like he should chime in something as well, but he was busy beating himself over the situation Pidge was in right now. He was thinking now that he shouldn’t have let her go off on her own at the slightest hint of her brother’s whereabouts. Of course they wanted to find him, her father, and Shiro, but Keith cursed sending Pidge alone when he could have had Lance or Hunk accompany her and only kept one of them with him instead of both while they searched for Shiro. Now Pidge was bleeding out after being impaled by an unfriendly native of the planet she was checking out and they had to get to her faster. They had to be there now, Pidge didn’t have long…

“If a major artery is broken a person can bleed out in ten to fifteen minutes, although for a major artery such as a femoral it can occur in six to eight minutes, and a mere four minutes for a carotid. I’ve been here ten doboshes, not sure when you guys’ll get here, and doboshes and minutes aren’t exactly equal. This is a gut wound so it’s harder to say, I don’t think it hit any major organs, maybe my spleen, but it’s lowish for that and the spleen isn’t major anyway. Gut wounds were historically some of the most deadly.”

“Gross Pidge,” said Hunk.

“Why is that?” Lance asked gently, knowing that Pidge was trying to hold onto consciousness by reciting facts.

“Besides the chest and abdomen being where all of the organs are located, there are also tons of blood vessels in the torso to support those organs. These types of injuries tend to bleed a lot, but even if the bleeding is staunched and no major organs are damaged, if the intestines are punctured, even slightly, their contents start to leak out. Sepsis was a major issue with gut wounds before antibiotics were developed. In fact, in the middle ages, a gut wound was pretty much a death sentence.”

“Didn’t they use leeches back then as medicine?” Lance asked.

“Oh yeah,” Pidge answered.

Keith checked; they were making good progress and they would reach Pidge shortly.

Hunk was trying not to get totally grossed out and failing, “Leeches? Like, those little black things that suck blood?”

“In the middle ages leeches were used widely for treating all sorts of ailments. The idea was that they would drain out all of the ‘bad blood’ so that the body could replace it with good blood. Maybe they weren’t entirely wrong, some naturopathic doctors use them to drawn out toxins from the bloodstream.”

“Really?” asked Lance, “Tell me more about that.”

“Well, of course it’s controversial, levels of ‘toxins’ in the body are hard to monitor because the body is always filtering and eliminating them on its own as well, but apparently the leech treatment has been used following rounds of chemotherapy, as a way to minimize the side effects and damage done by the drugs, and it seems to help. There still isn’t evidence as to whether or not blood letting would have the same effect, but there definitely were some positive effect. Matt did a bunch of research with them in his undergrad years.”

“Did he keep leeches at home?” Lance asked, having heard about Matt's other 'pets'.

“Oh yeah, he even fed them his own blood to keep them alive.” Pidge laughed fondly, “Mom was not happy when she found out.”

“The more you tell me about your brother the more I want to meet him,” Lance said.

Pidge went silent for a few moments, coughing intermittently. “I’m tired guys.”

“You need to hold on longer,” Lance said, “We’re almost there. Well, Keith is almost there, Red is faster than the rest of us, but we’re all coming.”

“Okay,” Pidge slurred.

“Tell me more about blood,” Lance said, it’s interesting.”

“Right,” said Pidge. “Blood is composed of 40% red blood cells, 55% plasma, 4% platelets, and 1% white blood cells and other things, like hormones. Red blood cells, which contain hemoglobin, are what carries oxygen around your body. White blood cells are your immune system, platelets cause clotting, and plasma is the base. Red blood cells, made mainly in bone marrow, are replaced every 120 days or so, have no nucleus, and require iron for their creation. My situation right now probably isn’t helped by me being chronically iron deficient and mildly anaemic from it.”

“Pidge!” Hunk exclaimed, “You didn’t say anything?”

“I obviously didn’t think to bring my iron pills from the Garrison, and at first I thought it was just adjusting to being in space, I mean, the green goo is pretty nutritionally complete, but I’ve been feeling kinda dizzy lately.”

“Because you aren’t getting enough iron?” Lance asked.

“Yup. I know anaemia when I feel it. My mom always cooked with cast iron pans to bring it up. Also, she made me steak whenever I got my period.” Pidge paused, sounding far away, “I could really go for a steak right now.”

“Are you on your…”

“Lance!” Hunk spluttered.

“I mean, I don’t mean to pry,” Lance continued, “I just think it might be good to know how much blood you got in you right now. For medical reasons.”

“Not much,” Pidge chuckled, “It just ended. I don’t mind talking about it Hunk, we’re a team.”

“I have sisters,” Lance said, “Trust me, period-talk is nothing compared to pregnancy-talk. I guess food cravings are a thing in both cases maybe? Do you actually, like crave steak?”

“I do,” Pidge admitted, “It’s hard to say though if it’s because my body knows it needs iron or if I just want something like home.”

“We do have a cow now…” Keith ventured.

“No!” Lance and Hunk cried out at the same moment.

“We are not eating Kaltenecker!” Lance said.

“Sure we’d get a lot of beef,” Hunk reasoned, “But I don’t want to give up the milk and cheese.”

“I think we could find enough freezer space,” Keith suggested.

“Just because you can’t enjoy the dairy doesn’t mean the rest of us want to give it up,” Hunk pointed out.

“Yeah mr Lactose intolerant,” Lance agreed.

“Pidge?” Keith asked, realizing she’d gone quiet.

“Yeah?” she said weakly into her comm.

“Should we eat Kaltenecker?”

“Well, it is a bit of a nuisance to have to find hay,” she reasoned, “But apparently cow manure is valuable enough…” she had to pause to breathe, slow and deep, “...as a fertilizer that we’re actually making a bit of GAC... or breaking even... before we even add the milk to the equation. Overall, keeping Kaltenecker is worthwhile.”

“See!” said Lance.

“Also, the bovine is starting to grow on me… better pet than a leech.”

“Pidge?” Keith interrupted.

“...yeah?”

“I’m landing now and I’ll be at your location in a couple of ticks.”

“Oh, yeah, I see Red now. Well, I’ve been seeing a lot of red,” she chuckled, “I see… the Red lion.”

“Shit, she’s fading Keith!” Lance exclaimed.

Keith leapt out of his lion and ran to Pidge’s location. He had with him a couple of items from the first aid kit in his lion that Coran had taught them how to use in emergencies after their last separation. Keith pressed the light blue pad of fabric against the open wound in Pidge’s abdomen. It glowed and fused to her skin, effectively stopping the blood that was pouring out of her body. There was so much blood, soaking her paladin suit, running down her lap and seeping into the dry sandy ground…

He pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling, trying to find… there it was, weak and thready but present, her pulse. He exhaled and turned on his comm, “I got her. She’s out, but alive. I’ll bring her back in Red, Green should follow.”

Keith lifted Pidge’s limp body into his arms bridal style and carried her to his lion; she would be okay, they would put her in a pod, maybe see if the Alteans could do a transfusion, and then they would see about getting more iron into her diet. Pidge was going to be just fine.


	4. ORANGE: The Unbreakable Coran Heironymous Wimbledon Smythe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coran can't break, won't break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 content ahead! A lot of this chapter was looking up the name's of Lotor's generals. And yes, I did get the title from another television show (can't wait for the next season of that one too!).

“You know I won’t break Alfor,” Coran reassured his king. “I will not give up the location of the castle-ship.”

“I know.”

“So why are you insisting that I go with her? I know you want to keep your daughter safe, but Allura’s just as safe on her own as she would be if I went with her.”

“Coran,” Alfor said, putting a hand on his advisor’s shoulder, “You are my dearest friend and I trust you… I want you to…” he frowned, “If something should happen to me.”

“Alfor!”

“Just if, if something happens I want you to take care of her for me. She’ll need you.”

“She won’t be happy that you sent her away.”

Alfor chuckled, “No, no she won’t, and I’ll need you to help curb her anger. You’ve always been better at dealing with her tantrums than her mother or I.”

***

Over ten thousands years later and Coran was still dampening Allura’s tantrums.

Ten thousand years later and he still will not break.

He was bound and gagged in a Galra prison.

Lotor had taken him captive and his general, the big one with the furry ears and mean eyes, is arguing with the pretty purple one about how to go about extracting information from him.

“I say we break his toes.”

“No Zethrid, Prince Lotor wanted him intact.”

“Aw, that’s no fun.”

“Well, his body intact, he said nothing of his mind,” her fang like teeth gleamed.

“That’s not really my area of expertise,” said Zethrid, “Should I go get Narti?”

The pretty one tapped a clawed finger against her cheek, pondering, “That’s kind of starting off with the big guns. We might be able to break him without resorting to that.”

Four hours later and she was reconsidering. The general Coran had discovered was named Acxa, the leader apparent, had been wearing him down. First there was attempts at drowning, then they hung him upside down until he nearly fainted, and the one called Zethrid had, despite Axca’s instructions, beat him up a bit. Still, Coran would not break. The most he’d responded to them was to spit in their general direction after Zethrid had cursed him and the entire Altean race repeatedly.

Axca sighed. “Zeth? Go get Narti.”

“Alright! She’ll get it out of him.”

There was no way Coran was giving up the location of the castleship. He would die first.

***

Coran’s brain was melting, his every nerve aflame with white hot searing pain. All she had done was touch him lightly on the back of his neck and the next tick he was experiencing the worst pain he had ever felt - and Coran had seen enough injuries to be familiar with pain. The pain only lasted a couple of ticks, less than a dobosh, but he knew from the way Narti held her hand over him that she could do it again in a heartbeat and that it could last even longer.

He screamed, but Coran still would not break.

Narti’s black cat wound its way around her shoulders and glared at him threateningly. Even the cat seemed to be interrogating him. 

“Where is the Altean ship?” Axca asked, not for the first time. 

“I will never tell you.”

“Shame,” she sighed, “I wanted to keep you around for a bit, could be interesting to experiment with an Altean not infused with quintessence.”

“What?” Coran asked.

“Nevermind though,” Axca cleaned her finger nails disinterestedly, “Narti. Have at it.”

Narti’s hand met his spine and less than a tick later he was not only aflame but he felt her in his mind, probing, exploring. He tried to push her away.

“Narti has this skill…” Axca explained, “She can get right into someone’s head, literally. It’s painful though, she tends not to care as she goes in and usually causes damage. If you survive it, if she’s careful, then there’s a good chance you’ll only be reduced to a vegetable. If she’s not careful...” Axca shrugged, “We’ll get what we need either way.”

The pain was unbelievable, and only worsened the more Coran struggled.

Perhaps Narti had never met an Altean, or at least not one as strong willed as Coran, because she seemed taken aback at first when she met his resistance. He strained to keep her out, and she had to tighten her physical grip around his neck. She prodded deeper, and deeper, and Coran dug in his metaphorical heels and would not let her enter. 

They struggled for a short eternity. It felt like forever to Coran, but he knew it hadn’t actually been long at all.

Eventually, knowing he could not keep her out, Coran did what he could; he fainted. He turned his brain off, dropped to the ground, knowing that when he was unconscious Narti could not access his thoughts except through the Astral plane, and he had training there.

She withdrew with an angry hiss as Coran’s body went limp.

“What happened?” Axca asked, “Did you find anything else out?”

“Not yet,” Narti growled, “We will have to wait until he wakes up again.”

“When will that be?”

Narti shrugged.

***

“Coran?” Allura’s voice came to him through a haze. He opened his eyes slowly.

“Oh Coran, thank the ancients you woke up!” Allura was kneeling and he laid half-supported on her lap. She wore her pink paladin armour and all around them was a devastation of Galra sentries. This wasn’t right… he was supposed to be protecting her? But he had, he hadn’t broken.

“I…” Coran’s voice was whisper soft and faint, “I did not break princess.”

“Of course not!” Allura cried out and hugged Coran to her chest, “You are unbreakable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbreakable!  
> He's Alive, Damnit!  
> It's a Miracle  
> Unbreakable!  
> He's Alive, Damnit!  
> But Coran is strong as hell!


	5. BLACK: Sleepless in Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura can't figure out why Shiro won't sleep beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 I guess. Warning for references to sex and gore in dream.

Despite that Shiro and Allura had been sleeping with each other for weeks now they had yet to actually sleep together. At first the team didn’t know of their relationship, so they wanted to keep it private, but after Keith found them necking in the kitchen they did not need to hide it any more. Still, Shiro crept out each night to his own bed. Allura asked about it once and he said that he didn’t want to keep her up with his snoring. She had insisted that she didn’t mind, that he stay, but he still would not do it. Instead he waited for her to drift off and then snuck out like a thief in the night. Even Coran, coming across him one night, had raised an eyebrow at the behaviour, with a quippy, “I wasn’t born yester-quintant paladin. You can stay if you want.”

It was a surprise then when Shiro, freshly showered, entered his room to find Allura, already in her nightgown, tucked into his bed, chatting with her mice.

“Allura?” he asked.

“Good evening Shiro,” she said with a smile, lifting the covers, “I’ve already warmed the bed up for you.”

“I’m not… I mean, we could, but we already did it this afternoon and last night, I’d like to just sleep... unless you really want to?”

“Oh no,” her laugh was high and clear, “We could of course, or save it for the morning. I was just planning to sleep here, since you don’t seem to like my bed.”

“Princess, it’s a rather narrow bunk.”

“Then we’ll just have to cuddle close,” her smile was sweet and he knew she would smell good and hold him tight.

Still, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea… I don’t want to keep you up. You know I snore.”

“Pssh,” she scoffed, “You won’t. If I can stand to sleep with Platt I can handle you.”

“I think I snore louder than a mouse.”

“You’d be surprised just how loud this mouse can be.”

Platt, the largest of the mice, squeaked angrily. Allura patted the bed and gazed at Shiro pleadingly.

He had no excuse now.

Shiro hung up his towel and stripped off his shirt, curling onto the bed behind Allura. She felt amazing in his arms, her smooth warm skin soft against his and hair fresh and sweet smelling. He buried his face into her hair and soon found himself asleep.

***

_  
_

The fiery rain won’t stop falling from the sky and around him the other paladins and Allura are screaming and drowning in the lava-like rain that is almost up to their ankles. Somehow he knows this is his fault, that he’s failed them, that he led them here and now they would all die and the universe would fall to the Galra. Somehow that hurts more than the same rain falling on his own flesh. In fact, he doesn’t feel it at all, and when he glances at his body he sees his arm, the Galra one, pointing at the sky, a beam of light flying out of it, piercing the red sky above them and bringing down the tortuous rain. He’s doing it, it’s him who is inflicting this pain on all of them.

“Shiro! Shiro please stop!” Pidge calls out to him.

They all scream for him to stop even as their faces melt off, revealing white bone, the smell of seared flesh, like boiled pork and burnt hair, thick in his nose.

The image of Keith’s face, melting even as he screams for Shiro to stop, is engraved in his mind as he comes awake, screaming, “Noooo! No, no. NO!”

***

“Shiro?” asked a gentle voice, a soft hand pressing firmly on his human arm. Allura squeezed his shoulder, “Are you alright?”

“I, um, yes,” he is disoriented, trembling slightly still.

“You’re sweating.”

“Yes.” His whole body is oozing sweat but he’s so cold he’s shivering like a leaf and cannot stop.

“What’s the matter?”

“Do Alteans dream?”

“Dream?” Allura tilted her head cutely, “Like prophecies?”

“No, just dreams…”

Allura shook her head, “I have never heard of one who is not gifted with the Sight dreaming.”

Shiro exhaled, trying to figure out how to explain it, “Humans dream, we see things happen that aren’t possible or things that we want or things that we’re afraid of. Some dreams are good, some are bad. We call the bad ones nightmares.”

“Are you… did you experience a nightmare?”

Shiro nodded slowly, “Yes. I did.”

“I am sorry,” Allura stroked the hair out of his face gently, “What can I do?”

“I get them a lot. There isn’t much you can do.”

“There is no cure?”

Shiro shook his head, “No. Not really. I mean, some people taking sleeping pills, but I’d rather not. They aren’t really harmful.”

“But they interrupt your sleep. Are you sure there is no cure?”

“Sometimes… sometimes talking about them helps.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…" he said, haltingly, "I couldn’t burden you.”

“Shiro,” Allura admonished, “If we’re going to be together you need to open up to me. I don’t mind, it’s not a burden.”

“I can’t,” Shiro insisted, shaking his head, “It’s awful.”

“I don’t mind, I don’t like worrying about what you might be going through that’s so awful you wake up screaming and won’t share with me. I don’t like not being able to sleep next to you and wondering why you won’t open up to me. I know it must seem terrible, I’ve seen some terrible things too, but I can handle it. Do not underestimate me..”

She had a point. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell you…” and Shiro, resting his head on Allura’s warm chest, told her all about his nightmares. She stroked his hair and reassured him that he was not burdening her and that he was not weaker for his frightening dreams, in fact, she wondered at how he could get up and face the day with the things he saw.

Eventually Shiro slept, sounder than he had since arriving at the castle, and the next night they moved to Allura’s bed.


	6. PINK: Political Intrigue and Avoiding Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura is poisoned at a diplomatic meeting. Season 3. Warning for emeto (vomiting).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot the Allura chapter!! :O I had it written, but I didn't post it somehow. Here it is now!

By Coran’s final calculations diplomacy was 69% appearance, 27.5% manner, decorum, formalities & chitchat, 2% hors d’oeuvres, 1% serious matter, and 0.5% political intrigue and avoiding poisoning. He’d forgotten altogether about that last 0.5%, and so had Allura. Truly, Altean politics in the past, though intense, had never used much poison since they were a nation of chemists and alchemists with strong bodies; poisons were easily detected and not many could actually kill an Altean. Generally they were used to discretely and temporarily inhibit or quiet a person rather than kill one, since the fall-out from murder could be dangerous, it would spell the end of a political career were they caught because of the sanctity of life in Altea, not to mention a hefty prison sentence. 

What they had forgotten was that now Allura was a leg of Voltron and without her they could not form the robot; now she was more vulnerable than before. Of course someone could have tried poisoning another of the paladins, or all of the others, but without knowing human physiology there was the chance of killing them altogether and causing an Incident. Instead Allura was temporarily disabled by what was apparently an accident with the hors d’oeuvres; Coran suspected it was not an accident, but that was hard to prove, and the Melidorians were extremely apologetic.

With this poison however the 27.5% of manners, etc, was lost and the 69% appearance was suffering as most of the 2% hors d’oeuvres made a reappearance. Allura was vomiting violently into a hastily converted soup pot compliments of Lance who held her hair back, rubbing her back soothingly. It was humiliating for her, with the gathered leaders all standing by, watching, their appetites and probably their faith in Voltorn ruined. What kind of a leader was Allura? What kind of a Paladin? She was clearly ill and weak. The Melidorian leader apologized profusely, saying they had completely forgotten that Alteans had a reaction to that particular dish, but Coran was thinking there may have been some political intrigue involved as just then the Galra attacked and Allura was in no state to pilot her lion.

Coran told her as such. “Princess, you are in no fit state to fly.”

As if that would stop her.

Allura, trembling, lifted herself out of her seat and wiped a hand across her mouth, “I must go.”

“Allura, you can’t!” Coran insisted.

“Give me your arm Lance, please.”

The Red paladin complied, holding out his arm to allow Allura to grasp it lightly, her skin burning where it touched his. She accepted help to the main hanger where the Blue Lion met her, skipping the zip-line.

“We can handle this Allura,” Keith insisted.

“I know,” Allura said, pausing to dry heave into the pot she still clasped like a lifeline, “We must however prove that we are stronger than this.”

“Maybe you should sit this one out,” Hunk suggested.

“I can’t.”

“We can deal with it,” Keith said again, losing patience.

“I know you can, but we also need to form Voltron.”

“It’s not a big contingent, there’s no sign of Lotor. We can dispatch them without Voltron.”

“You don’t understand,” Allura insisted, “This is politics.”

She had to stop to vomit more into the pot, and then lean against Lance, grasping him tightly as she felt herself losing consciousness. Pidge was at her other side in a heartbeat, helping support her trembling body. Hunk looked like he wanted to help but also like he might throw up himself if he got too close.

“Politics?” Keith asked.

“You suspect that someone poisoned you intentionally?” Coran asked, at last catching up to the others in the hanger after calming down the room of diplomats.

“I am nearly certain of it,” Allura said, “The Galra have spies on every planet. They want to discredit us, make us - make me - appear weak and easily dispatched. That’s why I can’t ‘sit this one out’.” 

“Of course,” Keith said, seeing the subtle cues now, the way the Melidorian leader had been undermining Allura throughout the entire meeting, questioning her leadership, “Quiznak. Okay. Can you get into your armour?”

Allura nodded, shakily.

“Pidge, you and Coran stay and help Allura into her armour. Lance, Hunk, the two of you come with me and we’ll start fighting. When Pidge and Allura arrive we’ll form Voltron and deal with this as fast as we can.

“I’ve go--” Allura gagged, “Got it.”

“You can do this,” Keith said, saying what he thought Shiro would say, and then rushing off to Black Lion and into space.

***

They dispatched the Galra ships easily and effectively after forming Voltron. Of course, everyone could feel Allura’s nausea and pain through the link, but she held out until the ships were disappearing and they could unassemble. Wearily she set Blue to autopilot and sunk into her seat Allura was exhausted.

“Princess?” Keith’s voice came over the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“Good job out there.”

“Thanks Keith.”

***

Allura landed and immediately Coran had her housecoat at the ready, as well as a bucket, water pouch, and several tablets of medicine.

“You did well,” Coran said, handing her the water and medicine. She took the tablets with a tiny sip, trying to avoid further upsetting her stomach, and then allowed herself to be wrapped up and whisked off to bed.

As she lay, half asleep, Coran dabbing her brow with a damp cloth, she asked, “Should I go back to the meeting?”

“Princess, you’ve already proven yourself. Trust me. They were impressed.”

“They were?”

“Oh yes,” Coran nodded, “Forming Voltron while experiencing the symptoms of Muirl poisoning? Frankly, I’m impressed you stayed conscious the entire time. You earned a good night’s rest.”

“Oh. Good.” Allura yawned and was about to say something else but then she was right out and asleep.


	7. YELLOW: I'll be Your Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk is concussed by they need to walk back to the ship and he keeps forgetting what’s happening and wanting to stop. Pidge has to keep him going. Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is slightly comedic…? Slightly. I managed to get both internal damage and a head injury (the prompts) in on different paladins!

“Heeey,” Hunk drawled, stopping in his tracks, “Aren’t you Pidge Gunderson from the Garrison?”

“Yes,” said Pidge, “That’s me.”

“You’re our communications officer. Lance is our pilot, and my roommate.”

“I know,” Pidge said.

“Where are we?” Hunk asked.

Pidge inhaled through her teeth, annoyance seeping into her voice, “For the fourth time, we’re on a desert planet walking back to where our lions are. We got separated from the group and were attacked.”

“Lions?” Hunk asked, “Attacked? By who?”

“The Galra. Big evil purple aliens.”

“Hold on,” Hunk stopped walking, his feet digging into the sand, “Aliens? Is this some kind of training exercise? Why is my head so foggy? I know the Garrison sometimes uses drugs for certain advanced training exercises, but we’re not at that level yet. Are we?”

Pidge sighed, “We aren’t at the Garrison any more. Or on Earth. We’re in space on a desert planet. It’s hot and I’m tired.”

“Oh. Oh… why don’t I--”

“You were hit on the head, you have a concussion, some short-term memory loss.”

“I see…” Hunk said, suspicion creeping into his voice. He touched his head and indeed found it wound up with a make-shift bandage, a sore spot on his right temple that was sure to form into a large goose egg by the end of the day.

“Let’s keep walking.” Pidge began moving again and Hunk was forced to trot quickly to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“To find our lions and hopefully radio the others.”

“Lions? Others?”

“The lions that form Voltron.”

“Voltron?”

“Voltron is a giant robot made up of five robot lions that was created 10,000 years ago by an alien race to fight interdimensional evil aliens that came through an inderdimensional rift that was created by a comet. Voltron was made out of the same stuff as the comet.”

“Voltron is an alien?”

“It’s a robot made by aliens so in a way yes? Later on the Galra, who turned evil after king Alfor blew up their planet to destroy the rift, wanted Voltron, but Alfor wouldn’t allow it so he sent the lions away to keep them safe and now we use them to fight the evil Galra Empire. We’re the paladins of Voltron.”

“Whoah, cool, but I don’t remember any of this,” Hunks brows knit together.

“You didn’t the first three times I told you either,” Pidge sighed. Her story had gotten shorter and shorter each time. She knew better than to allow Hunk to ask questions and direct her down tangents in his current state.

“Oh.”

Frankly, Pidge could only hope that she made it to the lions or could at least keep Hunk focused long enough that he knew what he was doing and kept moving. She pressed a hand firmly to her rib cage where a searing, burning pain told her something was wrong inside of her body; each breath hurt painfully, her ribs crackling and rubbing against each other.

Unexpectedly Pidge began to cough, harshly, not like something was in her throat but straight from the bottoms of her lungs. She had to stop and hunch over, the pain so hard that tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Hunk stopped to support her as blood splattered from her mouth onto the pink sand.

“Pidge?” his voice was full of fear and concern, “What’s happening.”

“Internal injuries,” she said through gritted teeth. “We need to get back to the lions.”

“The lions?”

“The base. It’s that way, between those two hills to the right of the setting sun.”

“Which sun is the setting one?” Hunk asked.

“Quiznak,” Pidge swore, suddenly realizing there was a secondary sun. It was hard to focus, to orient herself to where she had been going and where she had come from, but eventually, putting together the distant landmarks and the direction their receding footprints were in, she figured out which one it was. “The red sun with the gold lining, not the solid orange one. That’s the sun we need to go to the right of, it’s the setting one. In between those hills is the base.”

“Okay,” Hunk said. “We’ll go that way.” He crouched down in front of Pidge, “Hop on my back.”

“What?”

“It’s only my head that’s injured, you shouldn’t be walking.”

Pidge blinked in confusion.

“Well, come on. Piggy back. Let me be your legs.”

Pidge shrugged and climbed onto Hunk’s back. She cringed as he stood, pain arcing all along her core, but he tried to keep his tread smooth as Pidge kept them aligned in the right direction, heading towards the base between the hills.

“It’s funny,” Pidge’s voice slurred as she lost consciousness, “‘Cause you’re a leg.”

“I’m a leg?”

“Yup, you’re a leg. And I won’t be forgetting this bonding moment.”

“Okay,” Hunk accepted that Pidge was delirious from internal injuries.

Hunk eventually arrived at a strange structure like a five tiered space ship, or was it a castle perhaps? Several robotic lions, gigantic and terrifying, were sitting in front of it and the yellow one’s eyes came to life and it purred when it saw him. He should have been more scared, but instead it filled him with a sense of peace.

“Hey… I… uh.”

“Hunk!” Lance came running out, along with three other people Hunk did not recognize. Two of them were either elves or aliens, and the other appeared human, though he could have been a time-traveller given his out-dated haircut. Hunk had no idea what was going on.

“Um... Pidge is hurt. Me too, but he’s worse.”

“Right,” Lance said, “Let’s get you both inside to the healing pods.”

“Healing pods?” Hunk asked, although he handed Pidge over to the red-haired alien without much question; Lance, and the mullet-haired boy, seemed to know what was happening, and he trusted Lance.

“Yeah. Did you call Pidge a he?”

“Yes.” Hunk blinked, “Am I missing something?”

“Oh boy big guy, you hit your head didn’t you?”

“I think so,” Hunk said, again touching the sore spot on his head and wincing, “Ow. I did that before. Why do I keep doing that?”

“Short-term memory can be damaged by a good knock to the noggin’,” the ginger alien said, “We’ll get you fixed up in just a tick, don’t you worry.”

“Lance,” Hunk said, his voice uncertain, “Why does that space-elf have an Australian accent?”

Lance broke into peals of uncontrolled laughter, “Of all the things you be confused by… oh Hunk, I love you man.”

Hunk followed this confusing group of people into the castle-ship-space-castle-thing; he knew mentally it was not right and very strange, but inside, in his gut, he knew it was exactly where he belonged, and Hunk was good at trusting his gut, especially when he knew his head couldn’t be trusted.


	8. PURPLE: Wounded Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor doesn't want to let anyone know how badly he feels. Season 3. Lotor and his generals-centric.

The small green one had sneezed on him. That was the source of it, Lotor decided. He hadn’t been feeling up to par the last few days, his throat was sore and a pressure was starting to build up behind his cheekbones, so he had done a scan and discovered he was infected with a virus common to several non-Galra species, including Alteans, and presumably, humans. He assumed he had contracted it because of his Altean ancestry, although truth be told his body had never been strong; Altean and Galran blood did not mix often, and apparently not well, his very conception had only happened with the assistance of quintessence. Quintessence would help him now, but he dared not seek it out without alerting…

“Haggar,” Ezor said, and everyone looked up to see the witch entering Lotor’s royal quarters, “Heya.”

Haggar swept in and ignored Lotor’s generals, speaking only to him, “My Prince, I heard you might have news on the whereabouts of Voltron. I would like to offer you assistance with capturing it.”

“Voltron?” Lotor repeated, acting incredulous, “Your sources must be misguided, I have not seen a Lion in the past cycle, much less the robot itself.”

He was lying of course, and Haggar knew he was, she had taught him how to lie afteall, but she played the game. They were always being watched by both his generals and Zarkon’s, whose loyalties could be swayed to his side if Haggar was not careful. Accusations would not get her far, especially if she could not prove them. “Very well,” Haggar mused, “We must remain vigilant, perhaps they are busy licking their wounds from our last encounter.”

“Likely,” Lotor agreed. Or, he thought to himself, dealing with whatever contagion the small green one had infected him with.

“Let me know promptly if you find anything,” Haggar said, leaving the room with a swish of robes. “We will meet again after the evening meal.” The doors clicked behind her.

Lotor sank into his chair grateful that the inquiry was over. It was always a battle of wills with Haggar, whether they were engaging in political intrigue or trying to agree on the menu for a family dinner.

“Your mom’s scary,” Ezor pointed out tactfully.

“She’s not…” Lotor began, “I mean, she is technically my mother, I am made with her genetic material, but she didn’t…” Lotor struggled to explain the strange circumstances of his birth, but the burgeoning headache interfered with his ability to think straight and he gave up, “Never mind. It’s none of your business.”

Ezor shrugged, “Okay. I was just sayin’, I don’t want to mess with Haggar.”

“That’s wise of you,” Axca agreed, “For once.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ezor screeched, offended.

“Shut up!” Lotor broke in, rubbing his sinuses, “You two are giving me a headache.”

“Are you sure it’s us boss?” asked Ezor, “You’re looking a bit… off.”

“I’m fine,” Lotor huffed, “I’ll be in my chamber if you need me, but it had best be important if you decide to disturb me.”

***

Lotor was not fine.

By evening the virus was in full swing. He checked again that the symptoms he was experiencing were all typical, and they were. What the scan hadn’t told him, however, was how miserable these specific symptoms would be, particularly when combined with one another. For starters he couldn’t stop sneezing. His nose was both stuffed up and running like a faucet, no matter how much he cleared it, and it dripped down the back of his already sore throat, causing him to cough obnoxiously and painfully, which only furthered the ache in his head and his face where the congestion was concentrated behind his cheek bones. To make things worse his ears hurt from the pressure and his hearing was muffled, he was exhausted but unable to sleep, and he suspected he was starting to run a fever, one of the less common symptoms but a possible one with worse cases of the bug.

“What time is it?” Lotor mumbled as his door swung open.

“Nearly time for your meeting with Haggar. I thought you might wish to be awoken before she arrives,” Axca explained

“Oh, right,” Lotor heaved himself up and began to cough thickly, collecting the phlegm he hacked up into a handkerchief. Axca was at his side with a glass of water which he sipped eagerly.

Axca, without asking, suddenly had her hand on his forehead. She did not meet his gaze as she explained, “I saw your scan, you left the data file open.”

Lotor froze in place, suppressing his gut reaction to slap her hand away; this was Axca, his most trusted general, probably the only being in the world he would consider a friend.

“Your temperature is elevated. What other symptoms do you have?”

“All of them,” Lotor sounded miserable. He tried to stop it but instead he let off several sloppy sneezes, “Eetchou! Aaa-atchou! ATCHOU!”

“Hmmn,” Axca made a pitying sound, “Shall I try to get you out of your meeting with the witch so you can rest?”

“No,” Lotor coughed, “She’ll be more suspicious if I skip it. I need to go, and act as if I am well.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Axca grimaced, “Rest would be better, but I sent for some hot water and Narti gave me some herbal tea that should help with your symptoms, temporarily at least.”

“You told Narti?”

Axca shrugged, “She knew without me saying anything actually. She just handed me the tea and said it was for you.”

Lotor groaned miserably. Of course Narti could tell, but if it was that obvious then it would be hard for him to get past Haggar’s scrutiny as well.

“We’ve got your back,” Ezor said, bouncing in with a tray containing a pot of hot water and a cup with a strainer on top, already filled with the tea leaves. She set it down and carefully poured the water on top and then placed a lid over it to allow the herbs to steep.

“This isn’t…” Lotor stammered, “I’m no… not… no--ATCHOOU.”

“Not sick?” Ezor raised an eyebrow as Lotor delicately dabbed at his nose.

“Not that sick,” Lotor amended.

“I don’t know boss,” Zethrid said, suddenly in the room, her broad palm on his forehead, “You’re feelin' pretty warm here.”

A cat suddenly jumped onto his bed and gave him a pointed look. He saw Narti standing in the shadows against the wall and sighed; they were all here, of course. Whenever one of them came down sick he of course gave the others reduced hours to take care of her, or rest themselves to avoid catching it. His generals were a tight-knit team, and Lotor was only now beginning to realize that he was a major thread running through their warm familial blanket. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, having experienced few deep friendships in his life so far, but he knew instinctively that they were stronger like this.

Lotor frowned, trying to explain, “But if I don’t go then Haggar’ll know something’s up.”

“True,” said Narti, “But she also won’t suspect our last encounter with Voltron, you can tell her you’ve been out of commission for a few days now.”

Lotor hadn’t considered that. “That’s clever Narti,” Lotor said.

“Even if she finds out that the Paladins are also out of commission with the same virus,” Acxa added, “She doesn’t know anything about symptoms or the incubation time of it.”

“Wait,” Lotor sat up, “The Voltron Paladins are out?”

Acxa shrugged, “We have not seen them since our last encounter, not even a whisper. Usually there would be an uprising or attack of some kind in this many quintants, but right now there’s nothing.”

Lotor threw off his covers went to jump out of bed, “We should take them while we can, while they are weakene--” Suddenly Lotor was overcome with a dizzy spell. He would have fallen but Zethrid’s strong arms caught him and hauled him back onto his bed.

She pulled his blankets back up over his legs, “Not so fast boss.”

“Ugh,” Lotor groaned, “This is awful. I hate this.”

“I know,” Ezor said sympathetically, tenderly brushing his hair from his eyes. She had never been this close to him before. Well, no, she had been, but they had never been so… intimate before.

Acxa propped up several pillows behind Lotor so he could sit up. “How about if I fetch Haggar and tell her you will meet her here. You can play the wounded bird,” she said.

“Wounded bird?”

“On the planet I was born there was a bird who, when it was nesting, would lead predators - or anyone it viewed as a threat - away from its nest by pretending that it was wounded. I think you can throw off any suspicions Haggar has by telling her you are ill, and have been for a little while.”

It was a lot more appealing than his plan to get up and meet her in the usual cold dining room. It was probably wiser too. “Very well,” he said, “Bring her in.”

Lotor’s generals exchanged looks of relief; they didn’t know they could ever get their boss to rest, and they knew Haggar would see right through him. This way he could maintain his innocence on the whereabouts of Voltron and wouldn’t need to get out of bed which would only make him worse right now. Lotor was their wounded bird, and they would care for him even if he didn’t ask for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed Whump Week!


End file.
